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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24288007">Before the Brittas Empire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurora_Vulpecula/pseuds/Aurora_Vulpecula'>Aurora_Vulpecula</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Brittas Empire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arguing, Break Up, Brothers, Comfort, Coming Out, Disappointment, Dreams, Emotions, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, I Tried</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:40:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,797</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24288007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurora_Vulpecula/pseuds/Aurora_Vulpecula</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the first installment of a series where I explore the characters when they were younger. It begins with Gordon and Horatio - football and a dream.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Two Young Boys</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Chapter one - Gordon and Horatio Brittas.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>1968<br/>
<br/>
Two young boys stood on the grass, in the shade of a large oak tree, looking at the makeshift football nets that their dad had set up at either end of the narrow garden. One post was made of a broken chair and some string and the other was fashioned from some old, disused metal poles. Although it looked a sorry sight, the boys seemed transfixed by the scene around them. The wind blew softly, stirring the leaves above the boys and the afternoon sun beat down, casting a gentle orange light on the street.<br/>
<br/>
Both of the boys had soft brown eyes and large noses, which they wrinkled up when sniffing. They both wore simple blue jumpers and brown shorts. Other than that, the boys looked very different. One of the boys ( the taller of the two ) had sensible dark hair, which was cut short so that it did not cover his ears or eyes. Around his neck, sat a cross on a small silver coloured chain. The boy had an vacant, peaceful look to him, as if he were lost in a thought or a daydream.<br/>
<br/>
The other boy - the shorter one clutching a half deflated football - had mousy, curly hair, which was not as short and gave the boy an almost wild look. He wore a small referee's whistle around his neck and carried a folded piece of paper in his pocket. His shorts were slightly too big for his frame, so he wore a black belt, a hand-me-down from one of his cousins. His shoes were also quite old, but the boy didn't seem to notice, he stood proudly with his football for all the world to see. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, barely able to contain his excitement.<br/>
<br/>
This boy sighed as he examined his pitch. This was not a sigh of disappointment, but one of wonder. He looked at his twin and said in a loud Essex accent,<br/>
"I'll take the far goal and you can have the one closest to the house," as he ran off with the ball. Upon reaching his goal, he set the ball down and called out,<br/>
"Ready Horatio?" Horatio nodded and called back, in a much softer voice,<br/>
"Ready Gordon," and with that, the game began.<br/>
<br/>
The boys ran up and down the garden, letting out the occasional cry or shout of delight. These earned  glances from the neighbours, who didn't really mind - there were far worse sounds than a child's hoot of joy. As Horatio went to score a goal, Gordon blew his whistle and pulled the paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and read out,<br/>
"Horatio, players are not allowed to have on their person, any items of jewellery which could cause harm to another player. You have to take that chain off. Also, your boots don't meet standards, but I'll have to let you off, as I need an opponent."<br/>
<br/>
Horatio walked off and removed the chain, mumbling,<br/>
"Yes Gordon," as he went. Just as the boys were about to resume their game, their father stuck his head out of the door and called,<br/>
"Excellent playing you two, brilliant technique Gordon, and the goal you scored at the start Horatio - that really was something to be proud of. I'll just start cooking dinner before I leave for work, have fun both of you." The man smiled kindly and headed back inside.<br/>
<br/>
The boys continued their game, as goal after goal was scored until Gordon blew his whistle to signal that their game had ended. He shook his brother's hand and they looked at each other.<br/>
"You know what Horatio, I think every boy in the world should have a football pitch like this one here," Gordon said with a huge smile, which displayed the gap from where he had lost his first tooth. Gordon smiled and continued in a softer voice,<br/>
"We could travel around the world and build them, wouldn't that be wonderful Horatio""Bringing people together, you know, as one big community," he added, gazing up at the sky, almost as if he was gazing into the future.<br/>
Horatio nodded and the boys turned and walked towards the house, their bootlaces had worked loose and were trailing in the grass.<br/>
<br/>
As they entered the house, depositing their shoes in a wooden box by the door, the boys looked at each other, wrinkling their noses and curling their upper lips slightly as the sniffed the air. They looked almoat like mice as they stood there. As the homely  smells of a hearty chicken soup filled the house and drifted into the nostrils of the two young boys, their father called them into the dining room. Their house was warm and the dim lights created a calm, orderly atmosphere. The boys looked quite out of place in the well furnished room - their football kit contrasted with the deep red wallpaper and curtains. A large table was positioned in the middle of the room, taking up most of the space. On the table, sat three bowls of soup, filled to the brim. Gordon and Horatio sat down, waiting for their father to join them. When he did, they closed their eyes, said grace and then tucked in.<br/>
<br/>
For the next few minutes, the only sounds coming from the house were the occasional chink of a spoon against the chinaware and the soft hum of the refrigerator out in the kitchen.  Gordon looked up from his soup,<br/>
"Dad," he said in his usual cheery voice, "When I'm older, me and Horatio are going to travel around the world and build football pitches for all the children so they can enjoy sport too." Their father grinned at them,<br/>
"That sounds wonderful Gordon, what a splendid idea, you two always come up with the best ideas, part of me wonders what great things you will achieve in the future," he said, trailing away into thought at the end.<br/>
Once everyone had finished, Horatio cleared the plates away, whilst Gordon cleaned the table. Their father, who was the only one who could comfortably reach the sink, did the washing up. After eating, the boys went upstairs to wash. The sun was setting. That meant their father would have to leave for work soon.<br/>
<br/>
As they busied themselves in their rooms, they heard the lilting tunes of their father's favourite record come drifting up the stairs into their rooms. The boys loved the music and occasionally, their father would let them listen to it too, picking them both up and swaying in time with the rhythms. They walked out onto the landing, both clad in blue pyjamas. The settled down on the top step and listened, letting the melodies lull them to sleep.<br/>
The music stopped and the boys retreated into their rooms, eager for the warmth of their beds.<br/>
<br/>
It got later and a storm was beginning to brew. Their father came up to their rooms to tuck them into bed and to tell them he was leaving. He told then that their mother was downstairs if they needed her. He kissed them both on the head,<br/>
"Goodnight Gordon, goodnight Horatio. I love you both." Gordon's father ruffled his hair lovingly, the mousey curls looking even more untamed than usual. Father and son regarded each other for a moment, Mr Brittas looked at his son and whispered into his ear,<br/>
"Never give up on your dreams my dear son, never." He smiled and left the room, leaving Gordon alone with his thoughts...and his dreams. With that, he left, gently shutting their doors and padding down the stairs quietly. The boys knelt by their beds and said their prayers, then climbed under their blankets<br/>
<br/>
A few minutes later, the boys heard the door open and shut, then the harsh hanging of keys, then the familiar sound of their father's Morris Minor pulling away, the headlights lighting up their rooms for a few seconds before they were plunged into darkness again. Thunder rumbled in the distance; the boys lay awake. Horatio hated storms, they were his biggest fear. He pulled his blanket around him and sunk deeper into his pillow.<br/>
<br/>
Gordon on the other hand, was busy thinking about travelling the world and building football pitches for all the children in every country. He would teach them the rules of the game, bringing together children from every continent. He would - a large clap of thunder interrupted his thoughts, shaking the whole house. Gordon was not afraid. He tiptoed to his window and peeled back the curtain, allowing a slither of light to shine into his room.<br/>
<br/>
A dull grey streetlight cast dull grey light onto the dull grey street. Gordon watched in awe as great bolts of lightning flashed and thunder roared menacingly down from the heavens. Horatio had nearly buried himself in his matress, wincing every time a lightning bolt ripped through the sky. Eventually, he decided to go to his brother's room.<br/>
<br/>
Horatio wrapped himself in his blanket and wandered into his brother's bedroom, sitting down lightly on his bed. Gordon sat up as his brother entered, whispering,<br/>
"Are you ok Horatio?" Horatio peeped out from his blanket cocoon and whispered back,<br/>
"I hate storms Gordon." Gordon regarded his brother, kind eyes met his brother's frightened eyes and Gordon said,<br/>
"Come and sit with me for a bit. I could show you my favourite book if you like." Horatio nodded. This was not the first storm the boys had spent together. Gordon really cared for his brother and his brother cared for him.<br/>
<br/>
Gordon stood up and walked over to his bookcase, flicking on his bedside lamp as he did so. He sat next to his brother, bringing with him his favourite book - a book on football. Gordon opened the book and began reading out loud, wrapping a reassuring arm around Horatio. Although the Brittas family was quite small, they were all very close, so what they lacked in numbers, they made up for in kindness and warm, open arms.<br/>
<br/>
Gordon continued reading and his brother continued listening, enjoying the company and distraction from the storm, which continued to batter the street. The rain lashed at the windows, rattling the frames in a most unsettling manner. The two boys huddled closer together, pulling their blankets closer around themselves. Gordon sensed his brother's unease and whispered,<br/>
"Don't worry Horatio, it will all be over soon."<br/>
<br/>
Horatio focussed on the sound on the pages turning and his brothers voice, which seemed to echo around the room despite the fact he was whispering. They sat like that for about an hour and only when frequent yawns punctuated the steady flow of words, did they decide it was time to go to sleep. As Gordon stopped reading, gently closed the book and walked over to his bookshelf, his brother whispered,<br/>
"Thank you Gordon, I really appreciated that, you know I don't like the thunder." Gordon nudged Horatio's shoulder gently,<br/>
"I don't mind Horatio," he said, "I enjoy spending time with you anyway."<br/>
<br/>
The boys were quite tired by the time they went to bed and had hardly noticed that she storm had stopped. Horatio climbed into his own bed. He thought about his brother's words earlier that day, about bringing people together and building football pitches. He smiled to himself. 'Yes' he thought to himself, 'I do want to bring people together'. Horatio yawned and rolled over as sleep came over him. Gordon meanwhile, was fast asleep.<br/>
<br/>
In his dream, Gordon was older, quite a bit older - his soft mousey curls were still the same, but he wore a smart grey suit with a blue and red striped tie. He was walking slowly along a winding road through the tropical rainforest. On either side of him, tall trees reared up and huge, colourful birds swooped and shrieked loudly; animals scuttled about in the shadows. There were people too, people wandering though the trees, beckoning him, calling to him in a language he didn't understand. He decided to follow them.<br/>
<br/>
As he headed off the path, he felt a weight on his back. He glanced behind him and saw that he was carrying a large pack on his back. Tall wooden poles stuck out of the top of it at jaunty angles and were wrapped in a sort of netting. He continued following the people.<br/>
<br/>
After a few more minutes of walking, he came to a clearing. Sunlight bathed the earth, casting a glorious yellow light on the children that ran about, chasing each other. As Gordon entered the clearing, the children looked up at him and his pack, which he removed and set down on the ground. He pulled the poles free of the netting and no sooner had he done so, a few of the children came running over to investigate. One of them grabbed the pack and pulled something from it - a football - new and shiny and ready to be played with. Gordon smiled to himself, he knew what he had to do.<br/>
<br/>
He walked to one end of the clearing, armed with poles, some nails and a hammer. He got to work, barely noticing the heat of the humidity. After fixing a few nails in place, the people around him came closer, taking the other poles and heading over to the other side of the clearing. Once he had nailed the poles together, he attached the nets and before he knew it, he had a football pitch.<br/>
<br/>
The children around him were beyond excited, one of them placed the ball carefully on the ground and before his eyes, Gordon saw the game begin. He was filled with a warm feeling that spread out from his heart. He felt he had achieved something...something much more than setting up a football pitch...he was achieving his dream. Gordon continued watching the children play, feeling immense satisfaction. He remembered his father's words to him - "Never give up on your dreams."<br/>
<br/>
Gordon smiled at the children and the children smiled back. As he woke up to the sound of breakfast being prepared downstairs, Gordon was filled with a sense of happiness. He stood up, got dressed and headed downstairs with a new spring in his step. He knew where he was going and what he was going to do.<br/>
<br/>
He had a dream.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The pianist</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When watching the series, I always thought Carole was underrated. So I wrote her a story. It's quite a sad story, but things rarely work out well for Carole.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clad in a light blue cotton dress, a girl of no more than fifteen perched delicately on an ornate piano stall, her fingers dancing over the keys. Sitting up perfectly straight, her feet lightly resting on the pedals, the girl seemed oblivious to the world around her - she was completely absorbed in the music she was playing.<br/><br/>The girl in question had flowing black hair which fell in waves down the sides of her soft face. Her hair was not unkempt, nor was it badly cared for, but had a slightly windswept look to it, as if she had just been out for a run along the beach.<br/><br/>Her eyes were soft and kindly - they peeped out cautiously from underneath the brim of a rather large hat, which she had borrowed from her mother's wardrobe. Flicking her eyes across the music in front of her, the girl took a deep breath and started playing Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata', a piece that she had been learning for a while now.<br/><br/>The piano at which the girl sat was an old and quite rickety one, some of the keys were cracked and there were numerous tea stains on its wooden frame. The top corners were both dented from where it had been pushed into various corners in various rooms.<br/><br/>For the last few months, it had sat forlornly in the spare room of the girl's house - a small room full of things the family had not got rid of. To the girl's left, a large chest of drawers leant against the wall - two of the drawers were missing and there was a large, ugly hole on the top from where the girl's mother had left a hot kettle on it. Balanced precariously on top of some boxes in the far corner of the room, was an old record player. Its tone arm had snapped a few months ago and the girl's father had intended to mend it, but had never had the time. So it sat, gathering dust with all the rest of the items in the room. Except the piano.<br/><br/>Usually, it just sat and gathered dust, but recently, the girl had developed a fondness for the old instrument and had dedicated every one of her spare moments to learning how to play. She had found it in the garage, in a terrible state, so before playing it, she had cleaned it, polished it, had it tuned and given it more care and attention than her parents had ever given her. Now, almost a year on, the girl and the piano were inseperable. She had spent most of her pocket money buying music to learn - her parents refused to let her have a tutor - so she taught herself.<br/><br/>Although this process was quite long and slow, the girl enjoyed teaching herself - there was something incredibly rewarding in hearing yourself play a piece you had desperately wanted to learn. When her parents were away, she would listen to the radio, choosing the stations that played the more classical music, not the jarring rock and roll her parents usually listened to.<br/><br/>She would sit and let the melodies wash over her, blocking out her thoughts and worries. She would lay back on the sofa and imagine herself playing the music, her fingers skipping up and down the keys as she sat at a huge, elegant, sleek black concert grand in front of a concert hall full of people.<br/><br/>She would reach the end of the piece and the audience would erupt into applause and she would stand and take a bow. People would throw roses and she would pick one up and slip the flower into her dress, which would billow out behind her as she left the stage.<br/><br/>They would shout 'Encore, encore' and she would take her seat at the piano again and would play. The audience would cheer and she would play, putting her heart and soul into the notes, bringing the piece to life.<br/><br/>Her daydream would only end when she heard one or other of her parents pulling up onto the driveway. When that happened, she would find another radio station, then turn the radio off. Then, she would scuttle upstairs and busy herself with the monotonous chores she was supposed to have done whilst her parents were out.<br/><br/>The girl was nothing like her parents, who were loud, rather obnoxious people, who cared only for themselves. They ridiculed the girl for listening to classical music and playing the piano, but she ignored most of their comments.<br/>"One day," she whispered into the air, "One day I will be a concert pianist."<br/><br/>The front door opened with a loud crash and the girl jumped.<br/>"Oi Carole, you cooked them potatos like I told you to," a harsh voice barked from down the stairs. "And that better not be the piano I heard as I was coming in. I've told yer before, ya need to give it up," the voice added as Carole shut the lid of the piano sheepishly.<br/><br/>She headed downstairs to find her father lounged on the sofa, reading a magazine on cars. He had the radio on and seemed not to notice Carole, who was carefully putting her music in the box by the bookcase. As she shut the box, he turned around and said<br/>"Why don't ya do something useful, like start cooking dinner. Yer mother's needs to go somewhere tonight, so she won't be in 'till gone 9."<br/><br/>Carole scampered off to the kitchen, with a quiet<br/>"Yes dad," as she went. There was something about her parents that made them quite intimidating to Carole, who was a shy girl, who avoided trouble at almost all costs. She did not exactly dislike her parents, but she wished that they would let her pursue her dream.<br/><br/>Carole hummed softly to herself as she prepared dinner, a cheese and potato pie with sausages. She seasoned the pie with a little pepper and looked proudly at her work. It was nice, but not as nice as finishing a piece on the piano.<br/><br/>As the food was cooking, Carole's father called her into his study.<br/>"Tell me Carole, what would ya say if I signed you up for extra domestic science classes at school. You know - and sold that old piano - so you could spend the money on something useful?"<br/><br/>Carole stood for a moment, shocked by her father's suggestion. She did not want to sell the piano - playing it was her dream and the music meant the world to her. She shook her head,<br/>"Dad, I love playing the piano, when I'm older, I want to be a concert pianist and play in the Royal Albert Hall at a recital. I would never dream of getting rid of it," she said resolutely.<br/><br/>"But Carole, there is an man at the music shop who would buy the piano - for a good bit of money too. You could spend the money on a beauty course, find yourself a man and - well you know - live in the real world. There comes a time when you have to realise that you cannot achieve all of your dreams and that you just need to get on with what you have," he said, raising his voice in a way that made Carole flinch.<br/><br/>"I don't want to sell it. Plus I have the piano, so why can't I use it?" Carole asked bravely and disappeared upstairs, as tears began to form in her eyes.<br/><br/>"Because," her father called angrily after her "We could make money from it and the music. Money that could be very useful."<br/><br/>Carole ran into her room and closed the door behind her. She climbed into bed, she felt too upset to do anything else. After all, she had never wanted anything more than the piano - it had become her life. Carole curled up on the mattress, pulling the quilt over her. She wiped at her eyes and fell asleep.<br/><br/>She woke to the sound of her mother coming in from work and panicked. She had forgotten all about the dinner she was cooking. Breathlessly, she jumped up, brushed her hair, straightened her dress up and flew downstairs. She ran into the kitchen and turned the oven on, not waiting for it to heat up before shoving the tray inside. Her father stormed in.<br/><br/>"I thought I asked you to do that an hour and a half ago Carole," he yelled furiously. Carole shrunk backwards. "Your mother and I do nearly everything in this house, the least you can do is put dinner on.<br/><br/>"I-I'm so s-sorry dad, I for-forgot," she stuttered, fleeing the kitchen. As she dashed upstairs, tears of embarrassment streaming from her eyes, she heard her parents talking and caught only snippets of the conversation.<br/><br/>"-over two hundred and fifty, plus extra for the music,"<br/><br/>"Well worth it if you ask me I think it would be better spent on -"<br/><br/>"I'll give him a call tomorrow morning,"<br/><br/>"-glad to be rid of that thing,"<br/><br/>Carole feared that she knew what they were talking about, but her worries were confirmed when dinner had finished cooking and her parents called her downstairs. As she sat down, her mother took her hand.<br/><br/>"Carole, I think it's time you gave up the piano. You've had it for over a year now and quite frankly, your father and I believe the money could be better spent," she said, not unkindly, but enough to make Carole begin to sob. She started eating, staring at the food and refusing to look at either of her parents.<br/><br/>The word awkward hardly began to describe what that dinner was like. Nobody spoke, except Carole's father, who said,<br/><br/>"If you took extra domestic science instead of playing that piano, you could learn to cook even more meals. How useful would that be eh?"<br/><br/>Carole simply shrugged at this comment, which earned a disapproving glare from her mother. Carole cleared up as her parents went into the sitting room. As she scrubbed the plates clean, she thought about her father's words. 'Maybe he was right. Maybe extra domestic science would be useful' she thought meekly.<br/><br/>Carole warmed her hands under the hot water, sighing deeply. She pictured herself in twenty or so years time - a simple housewife with a young child and a qualification in domestic science. She saw herself humming along to the radio as she cooked a meal for her family. She wouldn't ever have to stress about rehearsing piano, or touring, or the press and the audiences and travelling around the country and meeting people at fancy venues.<br/><br/>However easy and simple her life might become if she gave up the piano, it would not be as rewarding, nor as exciting. Carole spent the next few hours pondering the situation. Carole's parents spent the same few hours trying to persuade Carole to sell the piano:<br/><br/>"You could spend the money on something useful,"<br/><br/>"You should be more worried about finding a man,"<br/><br/>"Who's to say you would even get famous playing piano?"<br/><br/>Carole did not sleep that night. She lay awake, listening to the sounds of the would outside. The world never fully stopped. It kept on going - like a never-ending piece of music - like her dream to be a concert pianist. She rolled over 'But is it worth it?' she thought - 'All the added stress - and my parents wouldn't support it'.<br/><br/>The next morning, Carole relented.<br/>"Sell it all," was the only thing she said to either of her parents before leaving early for school. She cried as she left the house and cried as she got on the bus. She calmed down a little by the time she reached school and dashed into the main office. She fiddled nervously with her cardigan as she said,<br/>"I'd like to take extra domestic science please."<br/><br/>Carole swore that she would play the piano again - of not today, then in a few months or even years. She knew she would. She would save up for one - then she would achieve her dream.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Troubled thoughts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This chapter is about Tim and a very important discovery he makes.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Alice is my own invention, as is the fact that Gavin is a waiter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Oh I love you Tim Whistler, I really do," Alice sighed gently, planting a big kiss on Tim's forehead. She ruffled his soft brown hair and kissed him again - this time on the lips and she lovingly caressed his face. Tim sat there, almost awkwardly, kissing back, but not putting in as much passion as she was - he was terrible when it came to romance.<br/><br/>He was even more terrible at kissing than he was at thinking up replies to Alice's comments - to him it all just felt wrong - like something was missing, but however hard he tried, he could not place his finger on what was it was he wanted. Tim quickly brushed those thoughts away, 'You're eighteen for goodness sake, you've got bigger worries than what's missing from your love life' he told himself rather brusquely.<br/><br/>Alice did not seem to notice the way that Tim stiffened and almost shrunk back as she kissed him, but then again, she was just a seventeen year old in love - she did not need anything but Tim. She pulled away and whispered into his ear,<br/><br/>"I've never felt this way about anyone before you Tim. I really think I've fallen in love with you."<br/><br/>These words made Tim cringe slightly, as he could never quite bring himself to say them back to her. He liked her, but not quite as much as she liked him. Instead of answering, he kissed her lightly on the cheek and led her into the restaurant. They sat down opposite each other. Alice gazed lovingly into Tim's kind eyes and Tim gazed back. It had not always been this way; in the beginning, Tim had loved her more than anything.<br/>_________________________________________<br/>THREE MONTHS EARLIER<br/><br/>"So Tim, have you got a date for that Spring Party yet?" Tim's father asked as they sat down for dinner. The man's tone was not rude, but the question was delivered with an air of impatience, as if he should not even need to ask at all.<br/><br/>"No," Tim replied, "I told you, I don't need a date, I can just go with my friends." Tim was a shy person, most definately not the sort to ask a girl to a party. He rolled his eyes and stared down at his plate - he got awkward whenever his father started talking about girls and dates. Tim just was not interested; he just wanted his A-levels, then with any luck, he would be off to get his degree in 'Sport and Physical Exercise'. That had been his dream for some time now and he was not going to lose it all over girls and dates.<br/><br/>"Come on Tim, every boy has to take a date - that's how I met your mother you know," his father responded, "Why don't you go with that Alice girl - the one you've known since you started college."<br/><br/>Tim liked Alice; they had a lot of the same classes and spent a lot of time together, but they were friends. Only friends.<br/><br/>"Every boy your age has had a girlfriend by now. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. By the time your mum and I were seventeen-" his father continued, but Tim interjected,<br/><br/>"DAD," he exclaimed, feeling more and more uncomfortable every second, "I do not need to know what you and mum got up to, really." His dad rolled his eyes and mumbled something under his breath.<br/><br/>The next day, Tim had asked Alice to the party with him and she had accepted. The next week, they had their first kiss - under the shelter of the bandstand in the park. She had held him tight and it had been the most magical moment of Tim's life. Blossom had rained down as a cool breeze drifted nonchalantly thought the park. All had been lost in a whirl of movement and feelings and sounds and colours. Slowly, over the next few weeks, the kisses lost their magic, their appeal and their passion.<br/>______________________________________________<br/><br/>At first glance, Tim and Alice looked like an ordinary couple, sitting arm in arm in the dim lighting of the restaurant. If you looked closer, you would see that Tim was beginning to fidget and look increasingly nervous. Alice placed her petite hands over his and whispered into his ear,<br/><br/>"I love you Tim, I really love you. Do you love me?" Tim jumped back, nearly spilling his water all over the table. He froze, resembling a rabbit when caught in the glare of a car's bright headlights. He gasped, suddenly forgetting how to inhale properly.<br/><br/>"Tim, is everything alright," Alice enquired, a question that made him feel ever so slightly guilty. 'No, everything was not alright' he thought to himself - he was beginning to realise why.<br/><br/>"I-I erm I don't know Alice, I don't know. I like you, but -" he tried to say, as their waiter appeared, brandishing two plates of food. As he laid them down on the table, Tim could not help but notice how slender his fingers were, nor could he block out the slightly overpowering, musky smell of the man's aftershave. A slight tingle went slithered slowly down Tim's spine as the waiter said in a gentle, kindly tone,<br/><br/>"My name's Gavin by the way, let me know if you need anything more." With that, he left, catching Tim's eye on the way. Tim's eyes followed the waiter as he left. Alice coughed and Tim's mind snapped back to the situation at hand. The two teenagers looked at each other and began eating.<br/><br/>Tim had found that he had lost his appetite, but ate anyway. Neither of them spoke a word until they had finished their dishes, the oppressive silence souring the atmosphere considerably. Alice was tense; Tim was even more so, almost to the point where he could not breathe easily.<br/><br/>"Alice, look," Tim began quietly once he had finished his burger, "It's not that I don't like you, I do, but I think -" he paused for a second, looking everywhere but at the girl who sat in front of him. His fidgeting had intensified tenfold and he shuffled nervously in his chair. This carried on for a few moments. Tim had had enough of worrying and pretending. There was no need to lie, not now - he understood how he felt. He finally saw it - clear as day. He took a shaky breath, his heart was pounding so loudly, he was sure its beats were audible.<br/><br/>Tim leant in towards Alice,<br/><br/>"Alice I think I'm gay," he whispered so quietly, Alice had to strain to hear him. For a moment, there was silence. Pure, uninterrupted silence. Then, Alice placed a hand on Tim's shoulder as a tear began to form in his eye. A part of him expected her to get up and leave, or maybe throw something at him or insult him. 'After all, you have just broken up with her' Tim told himself. Instead, much to Tim's surprise, she relaxed and smiled softly.<br/><br/>"Oh Tim," she whispered, "It's ok Tim, it's ok," as Tim apologised quietly. Tim had given up trying to fight back tears. A torrent of words came out with the tears, which steadily raced down his pale cheeks.<br/><br/>"I think I've known it for a little while, but I wasn't sure, I didn't know. Alice, you can't tell anyone. You know what my parents would say - they might disown me," Tim continued, his voice becoming more and more panicked and hysetrical. Alice wiped his tears with a napkin, it was a kind gesture, albeit a useless one - the tears were replaced almost instantly.<br/><br/>Kissing his cheek and holding his hands, Alice answered, her tone sympathetic,<br/><br/>"Of course I won't tell anyone and you don't need to apologise, it's not like being gay is something you can help. I will be there for you no matter what. I promise." They locked eyes, saying nothing for a few seconds. Then, Tim cast his eyes to the floor - he was feeling too much at once and was struggling to make sense of it all. Thankfully, the awkwardness that had been building up over the course of the meal had suddenly vanished, replaced by something else; something much more pleasant and friendly - an unexpected, but welcome change.<br/><br/>Somehow, admitting his feelings had made Tim feel a lot better; if Alice was upset, she did her best to hide it, something which Tim greatly appreciated. After a few moments, Tim stopped crying and he caught his breath, his heart rate returning to normal.<br/><br/>"I'm sorry Alice, after everything you said to me, I just felt I couldn't lie to you," Tim told Alice. He felt he owed her some sort of apology, despite her previous comment that one was unnecessary. She rolled her eyes,<br/><br/>"Tim, no need to apologise, I just - I just want you to, well, be happy," Alice stated firmly, but kindly, making Tim blush a deeper shade of red. Their waiter appeared; Tim jumped slightly when Gavin asked,<br/><br/>"Is there anything else I could get you, or would you like the bill?"<br/><br/>Tim panicked slightly, how much of the conversation had the waiter heard? He stared up speechlessly, Alice smiled at the man and asked for the bill. She had always been better with people than Tim, who could easily get flustered and nervous when faced eith social situations. Gavin left to search for the credit card machine, giving no indications that he had heard any of Tim and Alice's conversation, something which caused Tim to sigh with relief.<br/><br/>Once out of the restaurant, Alice and Tim walked towards the bus stop,<br/><br/>"Do you have any plans for the evening Tim?" Alice enquired casually. Tim shrugged, pulling his coat tightly around hus hunched shoulders. It was not a cold afternoon, but there was something reassuring about wrapping himself up in the coat.<br/><br/>"No, I think I just want to go home and think about things, you know, figure out what's going on in my head," Tim replied quietly. His plan had originally been to go to Alice's house for the evening, but she seemed to understand that Tim wanted (and needed) space. As they waited for the bus, Tim became unnerved by the silence around him. The park was nearly empty; the shops and restaurants were, for the most part, deserted; Alice and Tim were the only ones at the bus stop. Even the birds were few and far between - something very out of the ordinary for a city square.<br/><br/>The two of them stood for a few more minutes, the world around them seeming to grind to a halt. Tim, although outwardly calm, was fighting an intense internal battle. He was debating whether to talk to his parents, or whether to leave it - would their opinion of him change or would they still love him? Would Alice break her promise and tell people? Would they all treat him differently if (or when) they found out?<br/><br/>Tim gave up waiting for the bus with Alice, he needed space and the prospect of being squeezed up on a crowded bus was daunting to say the least.<br/><br/>"I think I'll walk home," Tim said resolutely after a few moments.<br/><br/>"Ok, I guess I'll see you at college tomorrow," came Alice's reply. She sounded slightly disappointed, but made no attempt to stop Tim from walking off. Tim took a few steps, then spun around and dashed back to Alice, pulling her into a hug,<br/><br/>"Thanks for, well, being understanding," Tim said, before crossing the road. He felt he might start crying again if he gave Alice the chance to say anything. He needed to sort out his feelings, but his mind kept drifting back to the waiter's statement - 'Let me know if you need anything more'. Tim did need something more, but he had no idea how to go about getting it.<br/><br/>He walked past the supermarket, sighed, then doubled back on himself. He knew he would feel better after a shot or two of whiskey. He showed his recently earned driver's license, then left the shop. Tim took a slow walk home, listening to the whirs and grunts of the few cars that passed him and the sloshing of whiskey in the bottle he held in his right hand. His mind wandered as he approached his street, he had decided he would not tell his parents anything - how could he explain things to them when he did not even fully understand them himself?<br/><br/>Upon reaching his house, he unlocked the door and headed up to his room as quietly as he could. The car on the front drive indicated that his mother was home and he did not want her to see the whiskey. She did not really mind him drinking, but got annoyed when he took it up to his room. On the way to his room, he slung his coat over the banisters, watching as the contents of his pockets dropped on to the floor below. He got up to his room, shut the door behind him and  threw himself onto the bed.<br/><br/>After a few minutes of trying to fight off the inner turmoil that was threatening to take over, Tim gave in and poured himself a shot of whiskey, then another, then another, then another. The whiskey burned slightly as it rushed down his throat, he blinked as the world lurched sideways and he nearly lost his balance. He lurched over to the curtains and pulled them closed, the sun was setting and he wanted some rest. The world spun again, this time it was morr dramatic and prolonged. He righted himself, by now, he was more concerned about getting some sleep than sorting out his thoughts - he would have plently of opportunities to do that over the empty weeks that lay ahead.<br/><br/>He lay down on the bed, the smell of the alcohol on his clothes and his breath made him gag, but he ignored it. He ignored everything. He shut his eyes and drifted into a deep sleep. "One day," he whispered as he fell asleep, "One day, everything will make sense and I will understand what ever is going on inside my head". Tim sighed, letting dreams replace the strange reality he lived in.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you have any suggestions for future works in this series, please let me know. Hope you enjoyed. Thank you.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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